A Matter of Maturity
by oneiropulos
Summary: She doesn't let anyone in and doesn't let much of herself out. He thinks she needs to grow up, but she may never get a chance to.
1. prelude

a matter of maturity.

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((prelude))

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maturity: _recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge_

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_Massie Block's a trip, but she's no vacation._

She can make you cry but still want to be her best friend. You don't stand a chance the second she opens her freshly glossed lips. She'll make you feel stupid for even considering wearing something you got for your birthday—last month. Eyes are drawn to her by a force tenfold that of an electro magnet. You want to look at her, watch her every move, but you can't—one false dilation of the pupil or twitch of the nose and she'll have the entire school turned against you faster than she can blink one of her ridiculously long-lashed eyelids. High school is so not a democracy.

She breaths beauty and bleeds wit. A snap of her manicured fingers and the world is waiting at her Manolo Blahnik covered feet. Her Gucci wallet is filled with more platinum credit cards than your parents have. If Massie wants the sun, she gets the entire solar system, even when it already belongs to somebody else.

A complete bitch? No, that's Massie Block. But she isn't just Massie Block. _And what you see isn't always what you get._

The truth is, Massie Block has been dying since her eleventh birthday.

It's terminal, and no matter how many specialists her daddy flies in from across the globe to see her, nothing can change that. Her mother first grieved and then inserted herself into every hobby she and her little stepford wives club could find. Her father took a year off work and tried his hand in the vineyard business; he might have sipped a few too many expensive French wines somewhere along the way. Massie got tough. Someone in the family had to. She doesn't let anyone in and doesn't let much of herself out. _But sometimes when we build up walls to keep people out, all we really want is to find someone who cares enough to knock them down. _

When you're doomed to death before you even hit the teenage years, being nice just doesn't really seem like an option. Or at least a very likely one. Okay, Massie is not the friendliest girl you'll meet but, so what? She does has a perfectly legitimate secret excuse. Can you blame her? Really, can you?

Well, someone sure can.

The way he sees it, everyone is dying from the second they are born. But that thought seems to have no affect on how he lives. He lives in each moment; after all, today is a gift, that's why we call it the present. The things he does and the things he says, you'd think he's living forever. And maybe he is. He doesn't hesitate to call Massie out. And he does, big time. He won't take any of her crap. He thinks she needs to grow up. She may never get a chance.

_Be nice_, he says. The way the phrase reverberates off his tongue lets her know that his words should not be taken as mere suggestion.

Massie is so sure that he just wouldn't understand. However, she does tell him the truth, _I can't; it's too hard._

Ah. But, he would understand.

_Sometimes the hardest things and the right things are the same…_

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	2. chapter 1

a matter of maturity.

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((chapter 1))

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disclaimer: let's get real

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maturity: _recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge_

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massie

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Massie drummed her perfectly manicured fingers irritably across the glass. At first, she did this out of nervous habit—one of the very few almost quirks she possesses that tie her to the moronic human race—but after learning that it positively irked the taxi driver, who had undressed her shamelessly with his eyes just shy of a hundred times since the airport—despite the confidence boost major that'd been—she's done it solely on purpose. She had to do something to hold herself together.

_Do you ever feel like breaking down?_

The drive from the Trenton Bar Harbor Airport to her "Aunt and Uncle's" house is just over an hour, but in Massie's mind, it seemed closer to twenty four. She never has been very good at entertaining herself—she's used to having people for that. But this summer, everything will be different.

_Do you ever feel out of place?_

Kendra, her over-the-top-polite-and-politically-correct mother, is on her sixth—er—seventh "self-cleansing journey." William, Massie's father, thought it'd be a smashing idea if he joined her. So, those two jetted off to a recently purchased private island in order to "christen" it together, as a family. And by together, as a family, he meant the two of them, not Massie. Because a terminally ill daughter really cramps their style.

That's not to say her parent's forgot about her. No, no, no. Kendra told Massie to wipe the confused look off of her face—it'd give her wrinkles. To this, Massie scoffed. As if she would live long enough to have wrinkles. Hah!—and explained it was simple. She was not coming, she wasn't allowed to come. Instead they decided to allow her to visit with family in Maine. They had family in Maine?

_Like somehow you just don't belong and no one understands you?_

This was news to Massie.

In fact, they do not have family in Maine, at all. The alleged relatives are a college buddy of her father's and his family. Just as Massie flipped a glossy page of Lucky, Kendra mentioned Massie was to call them Uncle and Auntie, Massie knew she might as well deport herself.

_Do you ever wanna run away?_

William and Kendra's plan was flawless, really, except for the fact that Massie would rather die than visit Uncle Jay and Auntie Judi in Maine for three months. Unfortunately, no one cares how Massie feels; no one pays attention to her, and no one appreciates her or any of the few things she does do. No one listens when she protests. No one notices when she disappears for hours at a time. Because if they can't see her dying, then maybe she isn't

_Do you lock yourself in your room? With the radio on turned up so loud, that no one hears you screaming?_

And just like that she was exiled from the lovely state of NYC to its antithesis in all entirety, Bar Harbor, Maine. So, here she sat, uncomfortable, sweaty, and absolutely livid, in the cab of a speeding yellow taxi, headed for hell.

_Do you wanna be somebody else?_

Massie reached into her Vitello Mordore Prada bag that had yet to be released in stores and grabbed her iPhone 3G. It's purple, thanks to Colorware. Unlike her teenage peers Massie does not consider the device her lifeline and losing it the pinnacle of her fears. Actually, losing it might even be optimal. According to Apple time, she should have arrived four minutes ago. She stroked the head of her dog, and only companion, Bean, before returning her hand to the glass of the window.

_Are you sick of feeling so left out?_

Just when Massie could no longer feel the pads of her fingers, someone opened the door she was leaning against, sending her flopping to the dust covered ground. She cursed blatantly before swiftly returning herself to her feet. And her mother said she needed to say in ballet to be graceful. Massie nonchalantly brushed off the back of her legs, eyes ready to offer the offender a patented death glare. The perpetrator was a pale-blonde whose hands shook erratically at her sides.

Blondie stood there lip locked, knees knocking uncontrollably, the frayed laces of her white Keds creating baby dust tornados at her ankles. Massie didn't waste a half-second before initiating her attack—the only thing she can be certain won't fail her.

_Are you desperate to find something more before your life is over?_

"What are you? A calendar?"

"I…I…I'm—"

"Claire! Claire? Honey, are you outside? Claire! It's time for dinner! Claire!" A voice calls from the house.

"Well, Kuhlaire, your days are numbers. You can go earn yourself a few more by paying for the cab," Massie was already strutting towards the front porch. She moved her porcelain hand to knock on the cheap, peeling, white door, but it flew open, missing her face by only a few centimeters.

"Claire, honey—Massie! Oh! Oh! Oh! You made it! Wow, you've gotten so beautiful. And so big! Oh! You've grown up way too fast! Your mother was right! You probably don't remember me…the last time I saw you, I was, well…you were three?...three years old! Come in! Come in! Come in! You're just in time for dinner! Now, if I could just find that Claire…"

_Are you stuck inside a world you hate?_

Massie blew by the prattling Judi, the door slamming behind her. "I'm skipping dinner. Where's my room?"

"Oh! I should have known, you probably ate on the plane, right? Well on _your _plane. How was the food? Better than commercial, I'm sure! You know, I actually heard they don't even offer a meal service on some airlines these days! Can you believe that? Of course, I have no idea if it's true. We haven't flown in years!"

Gawd, did she ever shut up?

"My room!?"

"Oh my! Who do we have here! Hello precious!" Judi continued to wail. Massie half-expected her to reach over and pinch Bean's cheeks just like the kooky aunt she was.

"And they let this little baby on the plane! Oh! Wow! Having your own jet must be so wonderful! I can only imagine! But, really, we haven't flown in years! The last time I was on an airplane was for my honeymoon! Can you believe that, honey?" she proceeded to cackle at her own cornball of a joke.

Luckily, Massie managed to stick her earbuds in after it become starkly apparent the woman would not shut up. Under normal circumstances, Massie would not tolerate this kind of behavior, but travelling had taken a bigger toll on her than she would ever admit and all she wanted was to go to sleep.

_Are you sick of everyone around?_

"…but, you really did make excellent time, you know!" Judi blabbed.

Massie glared at the oblivious woman. But before she could protest, she felt her lungs being constricted at a rate only matched by that of a star-struck groupie being touched—no kissed—by her favorite celeb. Apparently, here in Nowheresville, glares are widely accepted as invitation to envelope someone in a death grip hug.

No, Bean, we're definitely not in Westchester anymore.

"I'm so happy you're here, honey. And I want you to know, I will do anything and everything I can to help you. I promise, everything really will get better."

_With their big, fake smiles and stupid lies, while deep inside your bleeding?_

Well, that was unexpected…and completely ridiculous. Things couldn't possibly get better. Because no matter what it looked like, all things ever got was worse for Massie. Everybody knows that bad things happen to good people, but what people don't know is that 99% of the time good things happen to bad people. So maybe, just maybe, if she was a bad person then some good things would happen to her.

_No, you don't know what it's like._

But the truth is, Massie is a good person. And you cannot change what you cannot control.

_Welcome to my life._

---


	3. chapter 2

a matter of maturity.

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((chapter 2))

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disclaimer: el libro " clique" no es mío.

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maturity: _recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge_

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claire

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Claire sat cross-legged at the dinner table. It was unorthodox, perhaps, but it was Claire. The laces of her newly dirt encrusted white Keds dangled off the edge of the chair. The rest of her still shook from the encounter with Massie earlier today. Well, more like eighteen minutes ago today, but hey! who's counting?

_In my dreams I hear the echoes of the recent battle._

Massie threw her off-balance in a way more unexpected than she imagined. Claire knew it would be strange to have her here. Claire knew she would be "a tad difficult," as Kendra had put it to Judi. Claire knew she would be dying. Claire was ready for all that. But she was not ready when Massie fell out of the taxi cab looking both skinnier and more beautiful than a runway model. She was not ready when Massie opened her lips and fired verbal bullets at her, before she even had a chance to try and explain herself. Not that she'd be able to. Self-defense was so not Claire's best subject.

_Lost and wounded as the faded cries begin to settle, for the night._

Both of her parents asked if something was wrong through the course of the meal. Claire opted not to share anything with them. She did share some of her green beans with Todd. And get this: he enjoyed them. When everyone finished eating Claire said she'd do dishes. Judi squealed with obvious approval. Claire hardly ever offered to wash the dishes after a meal; so actually, the proposal practically screamed "something is totally wrong."

_But the words you use to hurt me now…_

Luckily, Judi was convinced Claire's proposition was a direct result of the talk she'd had with the family during the days leading up to Massie's infamous arrival. Judi told her husband and children they would definitely all need to lend an extra helping hand while they had "such a special guest." Judi kindly forewent mentioning what exactly made her so special. Judi elbowed Jay who then offered to clear the table for Claire.

Yes, Judi really had that much of an effect on the Lyons clan.

Claire spent her time at the sink mulling over Massie in entirety. She couldn't figure her out, not that she had too much to work with. After finally relenting to the fact that what she didn't know outweighed what she did, Claire gave in. There might be more to Massie than anyone would ever expect. You never know, Claire decided, Massie might even be good for everyone.

_Only seem to make me strong somehow._

---

At nine-thirty in the morning Claire laid on her stomach across her bed, flipping through a magazine. Usually Claire was not one to read in on celebrity gossip or fashion, but after seeing how Massie out-dressed any cover of US Weekly, Lucky, or People, combined, she knew it was high time she got her "fashion on." Perhaps Judi would even take her shopping, if she suggested Massie tagged along. Claire wouldn't even mind if she did; Massie obviously would know what was and wasn't cool.

Her mother, father, and Todd left ten minutes ago for breakfast. Her mother mentioned causally that _someone_ needed to stay home with Massie right after "the family" made the decision to "let Massie adjust" and not hassle her by asking if she wanted to join them. Judi said they wouldn't want to "bother her."

Hmmm, really?

No one had so much as a peep from Massie since her broomstick landed. Judi's hospitality and friendly checking-ons were met with a double bolted door and nonexistent replies; Massie cam equipped with her own locks. Maybe, just maybe, her mother wasn't as dense as Claire thought. It was apparent Judi would never admit it, but Claire had a feeling that even she was now fearful to approach Massie. Claire wasn't sure what, but she was certain it took a lot of something to derail her mother, and Massie Block succeeded, possibly without even trying.

Since the incident yesterday—as she had dubbed it—Claire had started to look at—well think of—Massie differently. After deciding that what had happened was a complete fluke and that Massie had been sound asleep for hours at the incident—after all, there were a great deal of reasons why this simply had to be the plausible truth, and those reasons certainly outnumbered the ones for why Massie would act that way on a regular basis (at least in Claire's mind they did)—Claire saw Massie's arrival as an opportunity to make a new friend.

So what if said new friend was_ cool_.

_In my dreams I break the chains that hold this place together._

Claire hadn't ever considered herself cool; a feat she convinced herself the vast majority of the world never conquers. She was an original, a real McCoy, if you will. Okay, so, she was flat out weird. The kids at school seemed to agree with her perspective, as did Todd. Claire was pretty sure her own father didn't even think she was cool. Her mother was, well, another story. Every time Claire came home from school puffy-eyed and red-faced because of something nasty Alicia or Dylan or Kristen had said to her Judi told her that she probably had only misunderstood them. Occasionally Judi would inquire to as whether or not these girls were "nice girls," but before Claire ever got the guts to speak up she'd suggest Claire invite them over for a "play-date" or "slumber party."

Yeah, right.

_But in my dreams the consequences would be so much better._

It wasn't like this sort of thing was a once in a lifetime occurrence either. No, it happened pretty regularly. In fact, Claire had it marked down to the nanoseconds on the calendar tacked on the baby blue wall in her room. Claire attracted eccentricity like a white fleece attracts lent in an overused dryer. And the girls her mother suggested she have over for a play-date were about as accepting of it as summertime Arizona was of a blizzard fit for the Antarctic.

Alicia, Dylan, and Kristen were the "it" girls of BOCD. BOCD, Bar Harbor Oakes Country Day, was named after philanthropist and gold miner extraordinaire Sir Harris "Harry" Oakes, a famous resident of Bar Harbor. Sir Harry, ironically, was murdered just before the inauguration ceremony. The structure of BOCD schools were as follows: kindergarten through fifth grade were in one building, the lower school; grades sixth through ninth made up the middle school; and the upper school consisted of tenth grade to twelfth.

This summer was the year before tenth grade; Claire's last summer before the upper school. The more Claire thought about it, the sicker she got of being different. Her mother always told her that everyone was special. But wasn't that just another way of saying no one is?

_Then they are; 'cause beyond the walls that hold us here, skies that stretch across the atmosphere…_

And the more she became convinced that Massie might be her glimmer of light—aka insta-popularity—in the dark tunnel that would be high school.

_ooh, a revolution is near._

Her Massie induced reverie was interrupted by the doorbell.

Claire glanced automatically out the rusted-stuck window. Her face paled. Standing eagerly at her door were no other than Cam Fisher and Derrick Harrington. Had all hell finally frozen over? The next thing she noticed was a black sedan operated by Harrington's driver, James, speeding away. Great, they planned on staying! Derrick's family lived only a few houses down, and yet he seemed unable to walk that far. The chauffeur, never leave home without him!

Claire snorted.

Hey! sometimes living in a town saturated with rich snobs who only lived here to escape "real life" can really get to a girl.

Claire clenched her eyes shut. She told herself that if she ignored them, odds were they would go away. Unfortunately the odds have not been very dependable of late. A minute later the doorbell rang again. And again. And again. Asides from an eternal chauffeur, the occupants of this town, save the Lyons, hadn't waited a day in their luxury filled lives. Two minutes of unexpected silence passed. Claire cautiously peaked out her window and realized there was something worse than finding Cam Fisher and Derrick Harrington on your porch at ten in the morning: Finding your terminally ill house-guest on your porch with them, looking very, very, angry.

_oooh, a revolution is here._

---

sorry about typos; mechanics and i are devastatingly worse than oil and vinegar.


	4. chapter 3

a matter of maturity.

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((chapter 3))

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disclaimer: the quecli rieser longsbe to sili isonharr. this sionver of flectionre is pyrightedco to the lanmu tracksound and tinachris uileraag

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maturity: _recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge_

---

massie

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The ringing of a doorbell jolted Massie awake. She'd been dreaming. If you met Massie, you would never guess that she liked to dream.

_Look at me, you may think you see who I really am, but you'll never know me_

Blurred realities and nonexistent time constraints offered a sick sort of comfort in the form of hope. In the semiconscious dreamlike state, the tolling of bells represented cheer. In reality, every sort of ring or chime drew Massie's mind to knolls—death bells.

Back home, in Westchester, Massie got fourteen uninterrupted hours of sleep on a good day—when her body felt better and she needed less sleep. On a bad day, she was out for twenty. Unfortunately for the two boys waiting on the front porch, today was not a good day. If they anticipated her to look like a million bucks before she jerked open the Lyons' shoddy door, their minds were about to become as steadfast as the _Titanic_.

Well, one of theirs was, anyway.

Massie's seemingly naturally glossy lips were chapped and raw. The bags under her eyes were prominent. No, today was so not a good day. On days when she felt worse, she acted worse. Her temper shortened, her comebacks harshened, and the bubble she created around herself transformed into Adamantium. Massie knew it wasn't exactly fair to treat people like they were less valuable than clipped toenails, but…well, but nothing. No one had the guts to question her insensitive behavior, but sometimes Massie almost wished they would.

_Now I see if I wear a mask, I can fool the world, but I cannot fool my heart_

She grabbed a worn Yankees cap off the banister as she stumbled down the steps. With one hand adjusting the bill of the hat, the other heaved open the rickety front door. Massie stood, perfectly poised, in the doorjamb. Her fierce face—trained to mask certain personas of pain, both emotional and physical—alone was enough to put grown men in their places, but, ever prepared, her lips and wit were at bay, ready for some calisthenics.

_Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?_

But, instead of scampering back down the stairs, over the river, and through the woods like good little boys, the masterminds behind her wakeup call stayed put. Her glare resulted in one lopsided, apologetic smile and the opening of one big mouth.

"Sup! I'm Derrick Harrigton! I live three houses down," the blonde proclaimed proudly, gesturing towards the left. He smiled, revealing a set of subtly whitened teeth and pair of unreal dimples, attributes which left Massie unfazed.

"I don't care if you've just developed a cure for pancreatic cancer. Get off the porch."

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?_

Massie slipped back inside the house but before she could shut the door, Derrick Harrington had found his way into the purgatory between the inner dwellings of the house and the fresh Maine air. Massie's eyes locked with his. She knew better than to try and close it. She didn't have the strength. A revelation which was sure to be met with dozens of questions Massie would rather be caught wearing Target underwear and Keds than answer, as every explanation would lead its asker to the startling fatal condition. The fact that you may not live past your next birthday is not exactly the sort of thing you write on a name tag and slap across your forehead.

_I am now in a world where I have to hide my heart, and what I believe in_

"Wait! Wait! We just wanted to say hi!" Derrick boomed.

At this his dark haired companion made a nervous gagging sound.

"Derrick, come on. Let's just go. We can always come back—"

"Can it, Cam. _She _isn't the only reason we're here."

Her gaze flashed to Cam as he retreated to the back edge near the steps. Massie noticed the obvious bugging of his heterochromiatic eyes at the word _she_. He surveyed the perimeter of the house anxiously. Oh, so _she_ was indirectly to blame for all of this. They were here for _Claire._

"Please just listen," Derrick pleaded. "I'll behave, I promise."

He batted his eyelashes, in complete jest, and Massie faltered.

_But somehow I will show the world what's inside my heart, and be loved for who I am_

"You have one minute, Blondie. Make it count," Massie shifted her weight from one foot to another and tapped impatiently at her wrist.

Of course, this only inflated Derrick's Jurassic-sized ego.

"Okay, okay. Jeez, take a Ritalin, will ya?" he said, taking a casual step back. "Like I told ya, I'm D, he's C, and you are?"

_Who is that girl I see, staring straight back at me?_

Massie raised her perfectly sculpted eyebrows at him, "Massie Block."

_Why is my reflection someone I don't know?_

"Block comma Massie," he repeated.

"Cam Fisher," Derrick's less sociable comrade walked forward and offered Massie a wary but genuine hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

Derrick faked an extraneous cough in order to regain the attention he assumed he and his center ring circus act deserved.

"Yeah, so, B, as I was saying, the fam and I ran into the Lyons' at breakfast and the double JL's thought it'd be a rockin' idea if C and I stopped by. You know, to get acquainted with the new girl-next-door," he wriggled his dishwater-blonde eyebrows and butt in a manner one might label as "suggestive."

"Listen _D_, I don't know what kind of grade-A garbage you allow to be stuffed down your oversized ears of corn but, we won't be 'getting acquainted' any time in the foreseeable future. And I am _not_ the girl-next-door. I'm the bitch three doors down."

_Must I pretend that I'm someone else for all time?_

With that Massie slammed the door leaving Derrick, whose pretty boy face was in a state of such immense shock that not even a dozen electric eels could have recreated, and Cam, who looked like he could experience a seizure from excessive laughter at any moment, in her wake.

She clambered up the stairs stepping and mis-stepping like a runaway slinky. She could not deal with someone like him right now.

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?_

No, right now all that Massie could do was wish she could disappear.

What was happening to her wasn't fair. And of all the things Massie Block did possess the power to change, this there was absolutely nothing she could do about. Death was unavoidable, even when you're the daughter of one of the most influential people in the world. Pessimism worms its way into your soul when you wake up every morning wondering if today will be the day you die. As hard as Massie fought it with her mind, the deteriorating of her body was inevitable.

_There's a heart that must be free to fly, that burns with a need to know the reason why_

Even if she couldn't feel it. This self-induced alienation was the only "safe" way to handle things. She made herself into the girl who can reduce someone to tears without even opening her mouth. She unleashed her sharp tongue and didn't plan on ever tying it back down. When she started getting anything she wanted because her parents were scared of her, and not because they felt bad for her, it was more than just icing on the cake.

_Why must we all conceal, what we think, how we feel? Now I see if I wear a mask I can fool the world_

Massie pulled off ungrateful brat remarkably well. It came with the territory of having parents richer than countries. In fact, she started to believe it herself. But sometimes, she couldn't help but wonder how things would be if she was just her real self. Her self before every glance was saturated with pity, or fear.

_Must there be a secret me, that I am forced to hide?_

But Massie knew better than to think it'd be that easy. Returning life to a state of normalcy was a borderline impossible task and at that one that would not fit into the pre-determined queue Massie deemed acceptable for a dying girl. Because after all, no matter how typical things seem, nothing is ever really normal.

_I won't pretend that I'm someone else for all time_

When barely familiar voices echoed into the guestroom, Massie jumped. Was that boy really still here? Massie had stopped paying attention to anything teenaged and male. But she couldn't stop thinking about Derrick Harrington. Her brain was still soaring from that Ritalin crack. He made her nervous, like her heart was blinking and her feet were fluttering and she absolutely hated it. And worse of all, he made her feel hope. Hope was an alien feeling, chased off long ago by doctors and professionals alike. Yet, here she was, doomed to death and hopeful. Massie thought she must really be losing it.

Silly, Massie. After all, it is always darkest before dawn…

_When will my reflection show who I am inside?_

--

i'm still not happy with this chapter. i know this took awhile; my sincerest apologies. the operating system on my laptop corrupt and it kept blue-screening. if you don't speak computer nerd, it comes down to being the opposite of stellar.

yes, derrick's occ. don't bite me. he's trying to be suave. he'll get over it, soon.

i regretfully admit to butchering the lyrical sequence in the beginning and end. :[

okay, dumb question time. forgive me, please. how do i respond to anonymous reviews?

p.s. the disclaimer is in verlans


	5. chapter 4

a matter of maturity.

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((chapter 4))

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disclaimer: _the clique _and its numerous sequels do not belong to me. unfortunately, i don't own jimmy eat world or "hear you me" either.

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maturity: _recognizing that the world is full of good and evil and that everyone and everything are capable of both, and then coping appropriately with this knowledge_

---

massie

---

A split second before it happened, she was doubting it actually would. The notion had crossed her mind, but she had shooed it away, deeming it implausible. But as soon as she heard his fingers grip onto the door hinge, she knew that it was inevitable. There then came the unpleasant sound of rotted wood cracking, and bits of metal clinked to the floor.

Derrick Harrington had ripped the door off its hinges. Her door. Simultaneously the spectators spoke.

"Oh my," Claire's blue eyes were wide and her body frozen.

"Derrick! Claire? I'm so sorry! I'll…I'll…Derrick!"

Cam's face matched the Kennebunkport nail polish Massie had purchased purposefully for wearing during her exile. Had Derrick seen this, he might have jumped out Massie's open window. But, he wasn't paying any attention to Cam. His eyes were locked on Massie, which was why he heard her deadpanned whisper.

"It wasn't locked."

Massie met Derrick's gaze and the feeling came back. The butterflies had gone gung-ho.

"May I come in?"

And then it was gone.

"It's going to take more than just the removal of a door to get your ego through," Massie snapped, but her brain betrayed her and with the faintest of movements, her head bobbed.

Derrick grinned, "Not to worry. You've deflated it enough already."

With a swift movement of toned goalie arms and legs, he set the dismembered door onto the ground and stepped inside.

Massie watched as Derrick glanced back at Cam and Claire. The latter of which was well beyond the point of hyperventilation. She fanned herself with both hands vigorously, not believing what was happening. Massie wasn't sure if her state of dire panic was caused by Derrick's idiotic behavior or because Cam had an arm around her shoulders and had begun slowly leading her back down the hall.

"Is it okay if we talk? I want to apologize and—"

Massie whipped her head around to find Derrick a few feet away from where she sat on the lavender bedspread, drumming her fingers across a window pane. Had he honestly misinterpreted her insult as latent compliance?

"Get out."

"But I—"

"Now."

From the hallway, two sets of ears twitched in anticipation. Their feet stopped moving, waiting for whatever was to come next. Two hearts' delight, as Cam's arm remained wrapped across Claire's shoulders. Butterflies fluttered in both of their chests. They glanced at each other and shared a shy smile. Said unfolding scenario, and the nauseating fact that Derrick Harrington was approaching, made Massie want to barf.

After what seemed like one thousand lifetimes, Derrick drew in a breath to respond and abruptly changed his mind.

"Okay. Bye, Massie."

Massie blinked. Hiding the shock on her face was pointless. Cam cocked his head in surprise. Claire drawled an audible sigh of relief. Derrick turned, shoulders drooping, head down. As he slumped closer to the door, Derrick moved at the speed of a slug.

"Wait."

Massie's jaw dropped as soon as the word left her lips. Claire's eyes widened. Cam slapped a hand to his forehead. Derrick froze.

Cautiously, Derrick spun to face Massie. She offered him an uneasy smile before peering out the doorway at Claire and Cam, who hovered precariously in the hallway. Realizing that the tension in the upstairs hallway was ugly and heated enough without their presence, Cam and Claire anxiously made their way downstairs, hand-in-hand.

For an indescribable amount of time Massie and Derrick waited in silence, neither of them quite sure what the next step was. Her mind was reeling, her heart was racing, her palms were sweatier than ever. She couldn't help but steal a glimpse at Derrick. What was he thinking? She expected him to look away shyly when she caught him staring, but he made no such move. Why wasn't he saying anything? Earlier she gauged him as the type she'd have to pay to keep quiet; his lips were pressed into a line. Maybe he suddenly realized how bad of an idea running his mouth around her was.

Massie chewed at an already raw lip, both bored and unnerved by the lack of sound.

"You can come in."

"Oh, right."

"You can sit down. I'm not going to bite," she proposed.

Wordlessly, Derrick sat himself down in a white wooded rocking chair. He rocked back-and-forth, contemplating. He still wasn't talking. When it became apparent that Derrick wasn't going to say anything, Massie did.

"Do you want to, like, talk or something?"

"Okay."

"Okay."

"…"

"…"

"..."

Finally she lost it.

"Okay, listen. God, I hate when people open with that. I mean, obviously they're already listening right? Anyway…Okay. I'm just going to say it. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't interact with people well. Or at all really. I'm moody and bossy and controlling. I detest being told what to do. I'm stubborn and I get what I want. I—God, what am I doing? Why am I even telling you this? I don't even know you."

_There's no one in town I know_

Why was she telling him this? The question pounded in her head. It felt like something inside of her had burst and years of repressed emotional-vomit was spewing from her mouth like water from a jammed water fountain.

Unbeknownst to rambling Massie, her tirade earned a grin from Derrick. The sincerity in her voice astounded him.

"Because," his eyes leveled hers with a look of confidence. "I'm here and I'm listening. Talk to me, Massie. Tell me what's wrong. Tell me the truth. You can tell me anything. I'll listen to you."

_You gave [me] someplace to go_

With that, Massie started to weep and then Derrick was there at her side. She melted into his chest, wiping her eyes dry on his immaculately pressed shirt. His proclaimed desire to listen to her caused the unraveling and brought on the onslaught of hormonal-teenage tears. No one listened to her. But they did listen if a machine monitored her heartbeat. It didn't matter if her outfit was fresh off the runway or if her handbag had yet to hit stores. She only mattered if she donned a lead apron or an IV.

Massie spent years building up a wall to keep everyone out. But with one simple sentence, Derrick Harrington brought them crashing down.

"Do you want to talk about it?" he asked.

Discuss her personal life with an extremely cute and extremely strange boy who just watched her experience a mental breakdown? No thank you.

_I never said thank you for that_

Massie shook her head. "But if there's something else…"

"Okay. I have a proposition for you," Derrick began.

"I'm listening," Massie quipped.

"How would you feel about playing a little game I like to call Truths? From here on out, you and I are going to be completely honest with each other. No questions asked. I don't know you. You don't know me. We can say whatever we want as long as it's true. No questions. Just truths. How easy is it to tell a complete stranger your deepest darkest secrets? It should be painless. Really. Like confession, if your Catholic."

Her expression was blank. But her mind was whirling with questions.

"Are you serious? Why would I tell you anything? I don't know you."

"That's the thing. If you don't know me, what does it matter if I know your secrets? You, my dear, clearly need someone to talk to. And I'm here, willing to listen. What have you got to lose?"

Massie stared at him. He was serious. Her face gave nothing away, a practiced mask. She weighed the consequences. What did she have to lose? Honestly, she had less than six months to live, tops. But beginning a relationship of any kind with Derrick wouldn't make dying any easier—she was no longer in denial about the obvious attraction between them. Did she really want to drag him into this?

"Oh come on. We can tell each other what we can't tell our friends," he teased.

Then again, dying was never easy. Having someone to talk to would be nice. Derrick had said that he wanted to talk to her. It had been his idea. So she wouldn't really be dragging him into it? He was more of a willing participant. No one had ever offered to talk to her before, not unless her parents paid them of course. And he said it'd be the truth. Massie was so sick of being on both ends of a lie. But, so far all the talking she and Derrick had done led to arguments. Could she really talk to him? Not that she minded arguing. It was a particularly strong suit of hers. And it was fun. Especially with him.

And besides that, there was the obvious point that she was dying. Did it really matter if she made friends with strange boys and told them her secrets on her deathbed?

_I thought I might get one more chance_

"Okay."

"Okay? Really? You're agreeing? This is—"

"Only temporarily. And because I've never had anyone to talk to before," she added in a whisper. "Oh! And only if you play, too."

Derrick was quiet for a moment. "I've seen every Mary-Kate and Ashley movie ever made. More than once. And I like them."

"Permission to ask a question?" she requested, still unsure why she was playing along.

"Granted."

"What's your favorite?"

"_Our Lips are Sealed._ You're turn?"

"I can't stand chick-flicks. Happy endings give me hives," she shivered, remembering all the chick-flicks she'd sat through in agony.

Derrick concurred with an expression of disgust. "Do I sense a story?"

"Before Kendra and William practically deported me, I used to go to the movies at least once every week. And we always saw one of those sappy-romantic-comedies. Even when it was my turn to chose, I picked one. I wanted to fit in so desperately. I wanted to have friends. I was willing to suffer through an hour and a half of torture and pondering whether or not to eat my own ears."

"My favorite pair of boxers are magenta."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Seriously. Whenever one of the guys comes over and I haven't put my laundry away—which is pretty much every time, by the way—I lie and say my Great Aunt Gertrude mails me a pair every year or some kind of bull like that. But it's not true."

"I've never been kissed," she confessed, not quite sure why her brain had picked this particular secret to share. Her head tilted to the side in embarrassment.

_What would you think of me now? _

"Me neither."

Massie perked up.

"I made up some chick at summer camp to tell the guys about. But the truth it, Cam kissed her not me. If anyone asked, her name was Nikki."

She smiled. "I told all of my friends I lost my lip virginity in like fifth grade. They were all so impressed that they asked me to teach them how it kiss. I've lost count of the number of times I've used the line 'I don't kiss and tell'."

"Works like a charm, doesn't it?" he grinned.

"Are we going to tell each other real secrets, too?"

"What? Are you making yours up?"

Massie shot him a malicious look.

"I meant real as in more serious, duh. You know, like the deep dark kind of secrets."

"Massie Block, you ought to be ashamed of yourself. One, barley two hours after we met and you're already searching for skeletons in my closet. And two, 'duh' is so outdated. Tsk tsk tsk," Derrick clicked his tongue at her.

Massie cocked her head at him, careful not to display the confusion stirring in her mind on her face or lips. Derrick shied away from that topic awfully fast. Why? Did he have something to hide? He proposed the Truth game in the first place. Why suggest a game if you didn't really want to play? What could he possibly have to hide? It was a given that neither of them would divulge any piece of their conversations to another. What kind of secret was it that he couldn't even tell a total stranger? She was intrigued now. Massie excelled at reading people and Derrick was obviously an open book. He shouldn't even have secrets. She decided not to bring it up again, let things simmer if you will. Massie loved a good mystery like she a pair of Loubitons. And after all, she did have all summer.

"I still make wishes at 11:11," Massie admitted, more to herself than Derrick, in an attempt to break the awkward silence she imposed moments before.

"There's always something to hope for," Derrick agreed.

What Derrick didn't understand was that anything Massie might hope for was an entirely different caliber than he could expect.

_So lucky,_

It wasn't stamped across her face, or flashing across her chest in sequins—eww! Everything was locked inside of her and it took every bit of strength to keep it there.

_So stong,_

What Derrick didn't know wouldn't hurt him—or her. The discovery of her ailment wasn't the largest potential fly in her ointment—dying, hello!—but still, Massie couldn't bear the pitying looks or offers for help or the general air that comes with being near a person once they know you're terminally ill. It reeked.

_So proud_

She bit her tongue, capturing the wit saturated retort with her teeth. Massie looked at him dismally.

Derrick gawked at her, in shock. "Massie. There's always hope. Be realistic, here."

"I'm being perfectly realistic. I don't have any hope. Not anymore."

"Come on! You've got to have hope."

"Yeah well, hope keeps disappointing me."

There was a knock from the hallway, halting any further questions. Cam stood where the door should have been, had it not been ripped from its hinges earlier. He glanced from Derrick to Massie with a knowing look on his face.

_I never said thank you for that_

"Claire wanted me to come up and tell you that we have to leave soon. Apparently she and Massie have been summoned by her mother. I'll wait for you downstairs on the porch."

He gave Cam a nod and as he retreated down the hall Derrick scoffed, "Impossible."

"What do you mean impossible?"

"Hope is the opposite of disappointment, Massie. That's just the way it is."

She stared at him for a minute, her nose crinkling in thought. "Maybe in your world, Derrick. But not in mine. Not anymore."

_now I'll never have a chance._

"I don't understand."

"No one does. No one even tries," her voice grew quieter.

"I'm trying, remember?"

"Yeah," she whispered. "Yeah, I guess you are."

Derrick reached for her hand and held it in his. Blood pooled in her cheeks. Massie diverted her attention to the window where Claire was giggling on the porch. She saw Cam check his watch, a Rolex presumably.

"You should go," Massie said, glancing at the doorway.

"I know. But I don't want to leave you," he said, standing up. "There's a cookout tonight. First of the summer. I'd really like you to come. Claire knows about it, I'm sure. But I doubt she'll show up without your insistence."

"Won't she want to spend time with Cam?"

"Yeah but she won't be the only one," he alluded cryptically.

Before Massie could ask what he meant he kissed the top of her head.

_may angles lead you in. hear you me my friends._

"What was that for?" she asked, looking up.

But Derrick was already half-way out the door.

"Please come tonight. I'll be looking for you."

Massie's eyes followed him as he flew through the hall and heard him skipping every other step on the stairs. Her heart thumped in time with his erratic steps. He kissed her. On the head albeit, but it still counted, right?

Sure, and debit cards really are just as good as credit.

There was something about Derrick Harrington. It wasn't his charm or his good looks. And it definitely wasn't his way with words. But it was there. And she was determined to figure it out, even if it was the death of her. Because Derrick Harrington cracked her, she needed to crack him. The iron façade she built for almost three years crumbled down in seconds.

_on sleepless roads the sleepless go._

All because of a boy and with big mouth.

---

a/n: salutations! it's been months. if anyone is still reading this, thank you and i'm sorry. i won't bore you with details of my personal life, but i will offer the knowledge that the internet on my laptop is busted.

if you're a lyric buff, you might get on me about how these don't exactly fit. and you're indubitably correct; they do not. note and file it for later (aka foreshadowing). feedback is always appreciated :]. i hope this update finds you enjoying what's left of summer, before the impending doom that is school falls upon us all. i'll shut up.

happy august!

ps: if you haven't heard of jimmy eat world, your ears have been living in deprivation. i highly recommend that you change that with haste :]


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